


The Story of Tonight (As We Know It)

by Kira_Gold



Series: like you need it to survive [14]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: AU, Apocalypse, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Tragedy, these tags contradict each other smh, written on amino
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-12-01 01:10:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11475447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kira_Gold/pseuds/Kira_Gold
Summary: “You’re getting ahead of yourself. The apocalypse is scheduled in thirty minutes.”“Thirty?” Alex raises one eyebrow in disbelief as Lafayette grabs him by the shoulder to stop him from actually slipping down. “Nonsense, Laf. I’d give it ten max.”





	The Story of Tonight (As We Know It)

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a part of a challenge on Amino, but I liked it too much not to post it here too.

“Do you think if I jumped from here I'd die?”

The two other people on the rooftop both turn their heads to Alexander who sits at its edge, dangling his legs over a ten-story drop. Lafayette shrugs, looking at the ground below them:

“I would guess so.”

“Then bye-bye, cruel world!” Hamilton giggles, leaning over and waving his arms frantically to maintain at least some sort of balance. Laf rolls his eyes:

“You’re getting ahead of yourself. The apocalypse is scheduled in thirty minutes.”

“Thirty?” Alex raises one eyebrow in disbelief as Lafayette grabs him by the shoulder to stop him from actually slipping down. “Nonsense, Laf. I’d give it ten max.” 

The sky is flaming orange and the meteor can be seen in all detail now. Not that there is much detail to see, Alexander thinks: it is nothing more than a giant boulder with a burning tail, and if it is destined to destroy all of humanity, so be it. You’d think he would be a little more eloquent, after all, in the face of catastrophe words were always his last line of defence, but right now he knows that even if he picks up a pen to write, there will be no one left around to read it. 

John, it seems, has another idea: the brush in his hands flies across the canvas, leaving strokes of a cheap orange paint across it, and Alex can’t help but marvel at the beauty of the picture he is creating. Maybe if it were done a year prior, he could have sold it to some peculiar old man with a gallery of his own, and maybe then John would be rich enough to afford a bunker space at least for himself. 

Alexander’s heart swells at the thought. For as long as he remembers he has been walking hand in hand with Death; he knows the man well and expects a cordial welcome in His kingdom. But then there is John and there is Laf and there is Herc, and though Alex would be lying if he said he himself isn’t looking forward to this at all, he knows that none of them want to die just yet.

And, ah, speak of the devil. The door which leads to the rooftop from a dim stairwell of the house is slammed open and Hercules walks out through it, having to bend down quite a lot to squeeze through the small rusty frame. 

“This is bullshit,” he states, panting heavily. “I know it’s the end of the world and all, but can they seriously not have left the elevators working?” 

Lafayette snickers loudly next to Alex, and, ensuring the latter is securely seated on top of the rooftop, gets up to help Hercules, distributing the beer bottles. Each person gets two whole pints, and John immediately opens his with a key, saluting to Herc:

“Thanks, man.”

“You made me do this,” Mulligan huffs. Laurens sticks his tongue out before taking a sip:

“Not my fault you suck at rock-paper-scissors.”

Alexander opens the first one of his bottles as well, squinting slightly as he looks at the fire which covers the horizon and skyscrapers, normally towering over the New York streets, short grey brushstrokes across the blue skyline. Now nothing is normal and the skyline is burning amber, and the brushstrokes are gone, painted over by the smears of orange flames. Hamilton feels himself shiver a little. It isn’t because of the cold, the temperature outside is at least ninety degrees, nor is it because of fear – he doesn’t feel afraid at all. 

“Anticipation, huh?” Laf smirks at his side, clinking bottles with Alexander. Alex snickers:

“Shut it, Gilbert. You aren’t meant to be better in finding words than I am.”

“Truly, the world turned upside down,” Hercules laughs quietly, sitting down at Alex’s side. “John, put the paintbrush away. We’re all gonna die in a few minutes.”

“Twenty six according to the official reports!” Laf chimes in again, updating the countdown on his phone. Alex snorts:“Six then. Laurens, he’s right. Come over.”

John sighs quietly but nods, flicking the brush off the roof and watching it fall, carried down in a spiral by a light breeze. Hercules chuckles, pulling him closer to them and pushing the canvas aside:

“Dramatic.” 

For at least another minute they are silent, taking small sips of the lukewarm beer and looking at the sky. Well, John and Herc, at least, are looking at the sky: Alex seems way more interested in the ground below, and Lafayette is following the meteor with his eyes. His hand finds its way around Alexander’s shoulders again, and Hamilton can feel him shiver. Again, it isn’t cold. And it’s can’t be anticipation.

“Fear.”

“Fuck off.”

Their giggles aren’t insincere, but they are strained. When John throws the now empty bottle down too, then lying across Herc’s and Alex’s laps, everyone goes quiet again, listening for the sound of shattering glass. Laurens opens his second pint, trying not to spill any while still refusing to sit up. Alex begins playing with his hair absentmindedly.

“You know, in a few hundred years, if there will be survivors in the bunkers,” he says quietly, “people will be telling the story of tonight. It will be in history books. Studied in schools, if they establish schools again.”

Hercules snorts.

“They’ll be telling the clean version,” he smirks. “A nice formal summary of the event. A formal summary done by the world which lies to its people even a few moments before death.”

He points meaningfully to Laf’s phone where the false countdown is still ticking, promising at least twenty three whole minutes. Alexander laughs:

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

“And you know what else?” John adds, his gaze dashing back to the abandoned canvas. “Nobody will ever mention how beautiful it was. How terrifyingly, breathtakingly beautiful.”

“I’d say that you have a fucked up sense of beauty if I wasn’t so inclined to agree,” Alex chuckles. Lafayette shrugs:

“Y’all might be right, but what does it matter to us? We’re not in a bunker. We won’t survive. Nothing about us will live on, we don’t have kids and we don’t have a legacy. Maybe Thomas will remember me as a good friend, and Burr will remember Alexander as an annoying kid he met in college, and James will remember Hercules as a guy who saved his life in third grade. But they will all die eventually, if not today, and we will be forgotten. Lost. So what happens next is really none of our concern.”

A moment. Then:

“That was depressing, Laf.”

“I guess you aren’t wrong there.”

“I’ll literally pay you to never say “y’all” again.”

“I live for being depressing,” Laf smirks. “And not wrong. And, Alexander, money doesn’t really matter anymore, but don’t worry, in about a minute and a half I won’t be saying anything at all. Ever again.”

“That was even more depressing.”

“I know, I try.”

They all burst into a fit of coarse giggles again. John finishes his second bottle of beer, throwing it behind them on the roof instead of to the ground, and Alex passes him an unopened one:

“Here.”

“Thanks.”

“You know,” Laf speaks up again after a moment, “I don’t mind that. False accounts of today. Being forgotten. I really don’t mind sharing my final moments with you guys.”

Usually one of them would laugh at that. Someone would call him too sappy, someone would pretend to cringe, someone would stick his tongue out, chuckling. But forty five seconds are hardly enough time to waste.

“Same,” Hercules nods quietly, resting his head on Alex’s shoulder. “You are my favourite people in the world, you know that, right?”

“We do,” John smiles, taking another sip. “I love you all so much.”

“Knowing how shitty my life was this isn’t saying much,” Alex giggles, “but you three are the best thing that has ever happened to me. And even if the whole apocalypse thing didn’t go down, that wouldn’t have changed.”

“I’m gonna cry,” Lafayette pouts, tears visibly rolling down his cheeks. Alex wipes his own eyes:

“Understandable.”

Ten seconds. The meteor is dangerously close to the ground (not that it wasn’t before), some of the fire already engulfing the street as the Earth braces itself for impact. John chugs the half-empty bottle, then letting it fall out of his hands, and sits up sharply, pulling everyone into a hug. Lafayette gives up on hiding his sobs, Hercules whimpers quietly, wrapping his arms around all three of them, and Alex takes a shaky breath. 

They see it hit before they can hear it, of course, but the sound is soon to follow, deafening, loud sound which shakes the ground itself. The countdown is still, for some reason, going, and Alexander grins wryly, watching the blast wave spread. He clutches onto the fabric of someone’s shirt tighter, like that can somehow change… anything, and forces himself to keep his eyes open.

“I’ll see you all on the other side,” he whispers.

“Till we meet–”


End file.
